


In the Eye of the Beholder

by More_familiar_wilds



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Caring Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Mentions of Geralt although he does not appear, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_familiar_wilds/pseuds/More_familiar_wilds
Summary: “Do you think you could...glamour me?”Jaskier's voice was barely a rasp and Yennefer raised both eyebrows at him.“Oh, you know,” he continued, waving one splinted hand over his chest in a vague gesture of this, “could you make me look a little less...banged up?  More like my young, handsome self?”She snorted.“I would not use either of those words to describe you.”
Comments: 11
Kudos: 98





	In the Eye of the Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of friendship fluff. (I so want them to be friends!) A little one shot.
> 
> Yennefer and Jaskier have escaped Nilfgaard together and are waiting for Geralt to join them at the keep. The bard's in a bit of rough shape. Jaskier has some concerns about his appearance.
> 
> (Thank you for reading. I hope you are all well!)

“Do you think you could...glamour me?” 

Jaskier's voice was barely a rasp and Yennefer raised both eyebrows at him.

“Oh, you know,” he continued, waving one splinted hand over his chest in a vague gesture of _this_ , “could you make me look a little less...banged up? More like my young, handsome self?”

She snorted.

“I would not use either of those words to describe you.”

“Ouch,” he said. But his eyes, buried as they were under yellow-purple bruising, twinkled up at her.

“And even if I could disguise your injuries,” Yennefer continued, “I wouldn't waste the energy for the sake of your...fragile vanity, Jaskier.”

“Fragile? Right for the heart, Yen, honestly...” 

“A shame,” she smirked, adjusting his pillow, “I was aiming for lower.”

“Yen,” he gripped her wrist, clumsy with bandages. 

In another time, she would have wrenched away from him without a second thought. But in another time, he would not have so carelessly reached for her. Weeks spent together at the mercy of their Nilfgaardian captors, with only one another for hope of escape, had changed something between them as slowly and surely as a change in seasons. Yennefer still recalled one night in particular when the bard, delirious with pain, had whispered to her across the dark in their shared cell: _I can't believe I ever thought you were monster. How wrong I was..._

“Geralt will be at the keep any day now,” Jaskier started and then winced when Yennefer rolled her eyes, “no, no, it's not.... It's not for my vanity, I swear it!... Well, it's perhaps a little bit for my vanity. But it's more...well, you know how he _is_ , Yen. You know he _carries_ everything. He blames himself for everything as it is. I mean, that's why I...That's why _we._... Ah, if he sees me like this, he'll think it's his fault. You know he will.”

“Perhaps he needs to see it,” Yennefer said, thinking of all the nights she heard Jaskier howling in agony as their captors tortured him for information on Geralt and Ciri's whereabouts. How she had helped set each one of his fragile human finger bones in the aftermath as he keened and cried. Geralt should know his bard had never said a useful word and how he had suffered for it. 

His sacrifice had surprised her most of all, honestly. She had so long thought him nothing more an insufferable and annoying peacock of a man, selfish, jealous and yet... _how wrong I was,_ he'd said, his voice filled with something that sounded like shame, of all things, echoing softly over the damp stones... _Forgive me..._

“He doesn't deserve it, Yen,” Jaskier pleaded. “He has enough to worry about now... with Ciri. With keeping her safe. I don't want to add to his burdens. Please, Yen, give me this just one thing and I'll...I'll never ask you for anything ever again.”

“That's a lie,” she said mildly. But it was the glint of tears and the trembling intensity of Jaskier's haphazard hold on her arm that made her sigh, finding herself swayed and angry at herself for it. 

“You're a fool.”

“Maybe,” and his scarred mouth turned up in a grin both charmingly boyish and incredibly grating, “but you like me.”

“I promise I don't.”

“I won't tell anyone, not to worry,” he said, “...so, will you do it?” 

“Jaskier,” Yennefer said and gently pulled free from his hold, “...a spell like that is not possible.”

His grin fell away.

“Ah, well. I...I see..”

“If I may though,” Yennefer reached out and took his chin in two fingers, carefully tipping his face from side to side. “...I might be able to do something with a bit of face powder and rouge. Make you look a little more like yourself.”

“Oh, like a...a court fool, you mean,” he huffed, and a tear spilled out of the corner of his eye. Yennefer firmly brushed it aside with a disapproving thumb, hard enough that he turned to look at her.

“I was thinking more... 'young',” she said, quietly. “and handsome. You don't really need the help though, if you ask me.”

He searched her face for a long moment, startled by her sincerity. She rolled her eyes at him then flicked his cheek. 

“Ow,” he said, fondly. “Were you just _kind_ to me?”

“No,” she said, “You're hallucinating. It's sad. I think you might be losing what little mind you had left.”

A rusty laugh spilled out of him at that and her mouth curled up in a satisfied little smile. He gave her as theatrical a wink as he could with the swelling.

“Beautiful, witty _and_ kind, too,” he said, “My dearest Yennefer, is there any virtue you don't have?”

“Modesty,” she answered, dry. “And I'm not your dearest anything, bard.”

He was grinning at her again, but she observed the lines of exhaustion and worry around his forehead, his mouth--Worry for Geralt and his _burdens_ \-- not for his own barely healed fingers, no, or the bruises that spanned the length of his torso in the shapes of boot prints and fists...

_...How wrong I was...you're not a monster at all...you never were..._

“Get some rest, Jaskier. To your beauty sleep, then,” she said, tightly tucking the rough blanket around his chest. “I'll wake you when he comes.” 


End file.
